


fly away home

by spyydr



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Black Eagles-centric, Bugs & Insects, Entomology, Entomology Club AU, F/F, Fluff and Angst, High School AU, Modern AU, Slow Burn, basically dorothea tries to catch bugs and catches gay feelings instead, bug-catching, rated t for minor swearing and bullying mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23811496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyydr/pseuds/spyydr
Summary: Dorothea, once the much-loved (and envied) star of the school drama club, finds herself kicked to the curb.Her solution? Join the Entomology Club, catch bugs with losers, and accidentally fall in love.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68
Collections: clouds wlw favs





	1. Chapter 1

It's a beautiful day. The creek behind the school is teeming with life, there's barely anyone else around, and it's a new beginning for Dorothea. And yet she's completely and absolutely not having it.

“Um, excuse me? What am I supposed to do with this?” Dorothea gapes at the net in her hands. It looks new and sturdy, with a simple mesh scoop at the end of a stick, but that’s not the issue. She looks back up at Edelgard. “Why did you give this to me?”

“It’s for catching bugs,” replies Edelgard. She's busy applying sunscreen, and barely bothers to look up. “You do know this is the Entomology Club, right?”

Dorothea grimaces. She thought they would just be talking about bugs and maybe looking at pictures of them, not going out and catching the damn things. And yet here she is, in 90 degree weather, standing near the banks of a creek. She huffs. “Yeah, but still. Why me?”

“Believe it or not, Dorothea, you’re not the only one going bug-catching today. So don’t worry, you won’t be alone.” Pointedly, Edelgard picks up her own net, as well as a plastic container that has holes poked in the lid. She gestures at the blue sky and warm sun. “Perfect weather, don’t you think?”

Dorothea wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “You could cook a steak on this sidewalk. Are we sure the bugs aren’t all fried to a crisp by now?”

“You’d be surprised. I’m becoming more and more certain that insects have a higher heat tolerance than you do,” replies Edelgard.

“Don’t be a smartass,” says Dorothea. “It’s hot and you know it.”

“If you’re going to complain, you might as well leave,” says Edelgard, still calm as can be. “You joined our club of your own free will. And as a member, you’re going to participate in all of our activities, rain or shine.”

Even though Edelgard seems dead set on her decision, Dorothea might as well try one last excuse to get out of this idiotic excursion. “But I’ve never caught a bug before,” she protests.

“I assumed as much,” says Edelgard.

“Am I that easy to read?” Dorothea frowns.

“Just about.” Edelgard shrugs. “So I assigned you a partner.”

“You thought I needed a babysitter.” Dorothea can barely believe it. “Do you think I’m twelve or something?”

Edelgard sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “First you complain about not knowing how to catch bugs, but when I offer you help, suddenly you’re completely capable?”

“Okay, well, it can’t be that hard, right? Even little kids can do it.” Dorothea waves around the net, doing a few practice swipes.

If Edelgard has concerns about Dorothea’s form, she doesn’t mention them. “There’s a right and a wrong way to catch bugs, and we want to make sure the bugs come to as little harm as possible. It has nothing to do with your personal maturity. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t get confused.”

“I’m perfectly capable-”

“Oh, I’m sure you are-”

“I don’t need to be treated like a kid-”

“I’m not trying to-”

She’s just about to give Edelgard a piece of her mind when a voice interrupts the two of them, breaking apart their argument. “You must be Dorothea! I was just looking for you!”

Dorothea spins around. A girl stands behind her, a little shorter than she is, with braided fuschia hair and fuschia eyes to match. Her outfit is simple, a tank top, shorts, and running shoes, but it shows off her impressive physique. She looks more like a varsity athlete than an amateur entomologist.

Edelgard clears her throat, regaining her composure. “Dorothea, this is Petra. She’s your partner until you prove yourself to be a worthy member of Entomology Club.” Edelgard pauses to check her watch, then says, “Be back here in an hour to show off your findings. I’ll see you later.” She gives a short wave, and just like that, Dorothea and Petra are left alone.

The other girl, Petra, smiles at Dorothea. “It’s very nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand for a handshake.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too,” says Dorothea, returning the handshake. She notices that Petra has a small tattoo underneath her right eye, and another one around her right bicep. For a moment, she considers commenting on them, but then thinks better of it. Maybe a boring remark about the weather would suffice instead. “It’s pretty warm out, huh?”

“It is,” says Petra. “We’re very lucky to be able to get nice weather on a meeting day.”

Nice weather, her ass. The heat is ridiculous, but Dorothea manages to agree halfheartedly. “Yeah, totally.”

Petra giggles. “You are not looking very excited. But you look very confused. Is there something that’s bothering you?”

“The heat, for starters,” says Dorothea.

“Yes, the sun is very strong today,” says Petra. “That is not what I was asking, though.”

“I guess. I mean, to be honest, I’m not much of a bug catcher,” says Dorothea. “I didn’t join this club so I could go out and put butterflies in a net.”

“Then… what did you join this club for?” This time, it’s Petra that’s confused. “We are focusing on the study of insects. Why would you join if you don’t like them?”

The conversation is drifting concerningly close to exactly what Dorothea is trying to avoid talking about. Instead, she pretends to shrug nonchalantly, hoping that she doesn’t give away her increasing discomfort around the topic. “I just needed something to do.”

Petra doesn’t look completely convinced, but she nods and doesn’t push any further. “Okay. If you do not mind, I would like to use the net first so I can show you how to catch bugs."

“Oh, yeah.” Dorothea hands her net to Petra.

“And here, you can hold this.” Petra hands a plastic jar to Dorothea. It's an old jelly bean container, and it still has a label on the front. “We will be using this to carry the ones we catch. Follow me.”

As Petra sets off down the worn dirt path and into the creek, Dorothea dutifully keeps close behind. At first, she dreads the walk, not wanting to have to wade through itchy grass and whatever might be hiding in it. But the further they go, the more Dorothea starts to forget her initial hesitation.

She can hear the sounds of gently trickling water, and chirping birds, and rustling leaves. The shade from the trees growing up around the banks provides cool relief from the sun, and Dorothea takes a moment to breathe out a sigh. Admittedly, the scenery is a nice change of pace, and so is the fresh air. It certainly beats being stuck backstage with a bunch of gossiping backstabbers. Maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

And then she hears the buzzing.

“Um, Petra?” Dorothea involuntarily tenses up, every muscle screaming at her to run. “Is that what I think it is?”

Petra turns around. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

She listens again, but doesn’t hear it. Maybe it was nothing after all. It must be the heat getting to her head, playing stupid tricks on her and making her look like a fool. Dorothea goes to relax, the threat now gone, when a fuzzy yellow blur flies past her face.

“BEE!” Dorothea screams. From a nearby tree, a startled flock of birds takes flight, frightened away by Dorothea’s sudden outburst. She, too, begins flailing around in panic.

“Dorothea! Stay calm!” says Petra. “Don’t make sudden movements, and don’t scream. It will only sting you if you frighten it.”

Dorothea goes stiff. “Where is it?” she asks, her voice rising in panic. “Where’s the bee?”

Petra makes her way back up the path to where Dorothea is frozen to the spot. “You are going to be okay. Just take a deep breath.”

“Petra, just tell me. Where. Is. The bee?” Dorothea can’t bear to look.

“I am not telling you if it will be making you more scared,” says Petra.

“Now you’re scaring me even more!”

“Okay, it is just-”

Dorothea feels something on her neck.

“Well, it is on your neck now,” says Petra. “But you probably knew that.”

She’s going to lose it. She’s literally going to lose it. “Petra, get the bee off of me,” she begs. “Oh my god, just get it off of me!”

“I don’t want to agitate it!” says Petra.

“Forget the bee, I’m the one who’s agitated!” Dorothea feels like she’s about to cry.

“Fine. Hold still. I am getting the net.” Petra picks it up and creeps closer, eyes focused on Dorothea’s neck.

“Wait, don’t try and catch it!” she sputters. “What if it stings me?”

Petra shakes her head, still concentrating. “Don’t worry. I will be careful.”

That doesn’t sound good at all. “Look, don’t take it personally, but we just met and I don’t really trust you to-”

But right as the words leave her mouth, like a miracle, the bee makes up its mind. Finally certain that Dorothea is not a flower, it flaps its little wings and takes off.

Once the buzzing has completely faded away, Dorothea collapses. Petra, thankfully, catches her.

“That was fucking terrifying,” says Dorothea. Her heart is pounding, and she can barely catch her breath. She buries her face into Petra’s shoulder. “Oh my god, Petra. That was so scary.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” murmurs Petra, gently rubbing Dorothea’s back. “You were doing a great job of holding still. I am very proud of you.”

“Maybe I’m really not cut out for this,” says Dorothea. “I think I should just quit.”

“You just joined,” says Petra. “It is too early to make up your mind right now.”

Dorothea takes one last shuddering breath before focusing on keeping herself steady. “I guess.”

“If you were not cut out for this, you would not have been following my instructions and staying still. You are actually more capable than you think.” Petra loosens her embrace and steps back, looking Dorothea in the eyes. “You will make a great member of Entomology Club. I am sure of it.”

Dorothea isn’t sure what to say. The most she can do is nod. She feels a little guilty, having joined Entomology Club for reasons completely unrelated to insects, but it still feels nice to know she’s not a total lost cause.

“Although, if I were you…” says Petra, already continuing back down the path, “I would wear something less bright next time.” She pauses. “Perhaps then the bees won’t find you as attractive as I do.” And when Petra looks back with a wink, Dorothea forgets to breathe.

-

One sweaty, miserable hour later, Dorothea finds herself back on the sidewalk, standing in a circle of similarly sweaty teenagers. But instead of matching her weariness, they all wear expressions ranging from a calm smile to uncontrollable excitement. Some kid with blue hair is literally jumping up and down. After all, they’re excited to show off which bugs they’ve found, a sentiment Dorothea does not share.

Edelgard speaks first. “Nice job making it back on time, everyone. Who would like to go first?”

The blue-haired kid shoots his hand into the air and waves it back and forth. “Me! Me me me me me!”

“Caspar, you went first last time. Anyone else?” Edelgard scans the rest of the circle. Finally, a small girl with purple hair raises her hand. Edelgard nods. “Go ahead, Bernadetta. And before I forget, since we have a new member, this will also double as an introduction. When it’s your turn, make sure to start with your name and your favorite insect.”

There's a collective groan from the group.

"Don't be rude. You might think introduction games are silly, but we want to make people feel welcome," says Edelgard.

Dorothea, for one, couldn't care less. She's never felt welcome anywhere, and people talking about their favorite bugs isn't going to change that.

“Um… anyways,” says the girl. “My name’s Bernadetta, and I don’t really have a favorite insect. I like roly-polies, though.” She holds up her container, a glass jar with a few leaves inside. “I caught some grasshoppers.”

Dorothea looks closely at the jar. Indeed, there are a few green specks bouncing around inside.

“I think they’re pretty young since they’re really small, which makes sense because it just started getting warm, and uh… yeah. That’s it.” Bernadetta looks down at her shoes.

“Very nice, Bernadetta,” says Edelgard. “And astute observation with the age of those grasshoppers. I suppose we’ll be seeing bigger ones as summer gets closer. Now let’s keep going in a circle. Next?”

A boy with a dark green ponytail blinks a couple times, then speaks. “I didn’t find anything, but-”

The blue-haired boy standing next to him elbows him in the side. “You gotta introduce yourself, Linhardt!”

“Well, what’s there to introduce? Now you’ve spoiled it by saying my name.” The kid sighs, dramatically.

“It’s fine, just start over,” says Edelgard.

He sighs again. “All right. I’m Linhardt, in case you didn’t catch it the first time. My favorite bugs are blue death-feigning beetles because they put on a very convincing act of being dead, which is a skill I aspire to have."

Dorothea wonders if she heard that right. She looks around, looking for similar responses from the rest of the group, but most of them are just shaking their heads. They must be used to it.

“And as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I didn’t find anything. Well, I did find some cocoons on the underside of a leaf,” he says. “But I didn’t move them. It felt wrong to. I wouldn’t like it either if I got all bundled up for a nap only for someone to pluck me up and move me somewhere else.”

They all nod politely. Dorothea wonders if Linhardt is sober. But her train of thought doesn’t get very far, because it’s now the blue-haired kid’s turn, and he’s loud.

“Finally, my turn!” he shouts. “I’m Caspar, and my favorite bug is the Japanese rhinoceros beetle, and I caught a swallowtail butterfly!” Proudly, he holds up a large plastic jar. Inside, a yellow-and-black butterfly sits on the bottom, its delicate wings closed.

For once, Edelgard looks surprised. She leans in to get a closer look. “I didn’t know they were around this early in the year,” she says.

“Yeah, me neither. It was quick, but I managed to get it in one swoop!” He strikes a pose. “It was all thanks to my lightning-fast reflexes!”

Bernadetta mumbles something that sounds suspiciously similar to “Just like in Animal Crossing!” Dorothea honestly has no idea what that means, but she’s decided to just roll with it. She has a feeling she’s going to be doing a lot of that.

“Excellent work, Caspar, as always.” Edelgard nods. “And I guess it’s my turn now. My name is Edelgard, and I don’t think I have a favorite, but that’s because I find all insects equally fascinating.”

“Except spiders,” says the tall guy standing next to her.

Edelgard looks annoyed. “Spiders aren’t technically insects.”

“And yet they’re often included in entomological studies,” he says. A faint smile plays across his lips, hinting that it’s not the first time they’ve had this discussion.

“That’s beside the point,” Edelgard says. “I happen to like a variety of insects, and I never mentioned spiders, because spiders are not insects.”

Dorothea decides to keep that information in mind. Not because she wants to prank Edelgard or anything, but because she’s surprised that even the president of the Entomology Club has a fear of insects. Or, well, whatever spiders are. It makes her feel a little bit better, knowing she’s not totally alone.

“Anyways,” says Edelgard, eager to move on, “I happened to find a few potato bugs in the community garden. I didn’t find very many, and I didn’t see any larvae, but I think we should notify the school. We wouldn’t want the biology classes to lose all their hard work.”

The tall guy next to Edelgard peers into the plastic container, where a couple of round beetles are scrabbling across the plastic bottom. “Common pests. Shall I dispose of them?”

“Wait, no!” Caspar says. “We can’t just kill them, can we?”

“What else would you suggest we do, then?” He glares back at Caspar through his curtain of black hair.

Bernadetta mutters something, more like a whisper, that Dorothea can barely catch.

“What was that, Bernadetta?” asks Edelgard. “Could you repeat what you just said?”

She looks up, flustered. “It was nothing, really. I just said we could, uh, maybe keep them or something.” Bernadetta starts fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “Sorry, it was kind of a dumb idea, I know.”

“No, I think that’s a great idea!” says Caspar. “They won’t be in the garden anymore, and we won’t have to kill them!”

Edelgard seems torn, glancing between Caspar and the tall guy. Finally, the tall one nods. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

“We have been looking for a club pet for some time,” says Edelgard, after a pause. “And I suppose it’d be easier than ordering insects online.”

“We can take turns caring for it,” suggests Petra. She’s been silent this whole time, merely observing the rest of the group. “Every week, a different person can take the beetles home, and when there is another meeting, we will switch.”

The rest of the group begins agreeing, nodding their heads and voicing their opinion. But Dorothea is less than thrilled. First bug-catching, and now bug-raising? She sees the striped beetles, still crawling around in Edelgard’s container, and swallows. There’s no way she’s taking them home.

“I think that’ll work, but we’ll deal with it later,” says Edelgard. “Let’s keep going.” She looks over at the tall guy, who nods in response.

“My name is Hubert. My favorite insect is the assassin bug. I did not catch anything, but I continued to observe the red ant mound in the abandoned baseball field. I noticed the ants being a bit more active than last week. That is all.” He gives a slight bow.

Next in line is a kid with perfectly coiffed ginger hair. Instead of giving an introduction to the group like everyone else, he looks Dorothea directly in the eye and sticks out his hand. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir, and it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Reluctantly, Dorothea shakes his hand, almost being crushed in his firm grip.

Once he lets go, Dorothea winces, giving her hand a few experimental flexes. Ferdinand doesn’t seem to notice, though, and continues. “My favorite insect is the honeybee, a tireless worker and stunning pinnacle of dignity.”

Even if she weren’t afraid of them, bees are hardly what Dorothea would consider pinnacles of dignity. She can barely take this guy seriously.

“My discovery is quite similar to Edelgard’s. I found the remains of invasive garden beetles near the rose bushes, which appear to have been eaten by birds.” He reaches a hand into his pocket and comes up with a handful of iridescent green shells. “Lovely, don’t you think?”

Ah, yes, dead bugs from a pocket. Dorothea’s favorite.

“Very nice, Ferdinand,” says Edelgard. “All right, last one. I had Petra work as a team with our new member, so they’ll present together.”

“Hello, my name is Petra, and my favorite insect is the orchid mantis.” She smiles, then looks towards Dorothea expectantly.

“Hi, I’m Dorothea.” She falters, suddenly aware that she doesn’t have a favorite bug. Then again, normal people don't sit around thinking about which bugs they like and don't like. Hurriedly, she combs through the first couple she can think of. “My favorite insects are, uh… ladybugs?”

The rest of the circle nods, some of them offering quick greetings in return. Petra stays silent, brow furrowed, as if trying to commit something to memory. Was it something she said?

“Anyways, we caught this.” Dorothea holds up their jar, feeling a bit lame. “Or, well, I didn’t catch it. Petra did.”

“She is being modest. Dorothea was the one who noticed it first,” says Petra.

"It's not that big of a deal," says Dorothea. "It was really loud, so of course I heard it."

Then, as if on cue, a clicking sound starts, echoing from the leaf-green insect in Dorothea's hands. The circle falls silent as they listen to the rhythmic call. Dorothea's heard this sound before during hot summer nights, but she's never known the source until now.

Finally, the noise dies down, and Ferdinand gasps. "A katydid!"

The rest of the group clamors for a better look. Noise aside, the katydid itself is still a unique bug, almost perfectly blending in among the leaves in its jar. Even Dorothea would admit that it looks quite cool.

Edelgard seems thoroughly impressed. "This is incredible. Wonderful job, both of you."

Dorothea begins to protest, but Petra cuts her off. “I could not have done it alone.”

“It seems I was wrong to doubt you,” says Edelgard, turning to Dorothea. “Perhaps you’ll make a fine member after all.”

Wordlessly, Dorothea nods. Though she's still unsure of what she's doing or why she's here, she still feels a small twinge of pride. Perhaps she's not completely hopeless. And perhaps she still has a chance to belong. Feeling a slight prickle at the corner of her eyes, she quickly looks at the ground.

Gently, Petra rests a hand on her shoulder, shaking her out of her thoughts. “I am glad you are here, Dorothea. Welcome to the club.”

-

That night, Dorothea finds herself at the library. She feels a little guilty for not having visited in a while, but, then again, with all that’s going on in her life, she’d hardly call reading a priority. As she steps through the doors, she notices the clear lack of anyone inside. After all, it’s already dark out, and it’s a weeknight. Anyone with school or a job would be home by now.

She wanders through the stacks until she finds what she’s looking for. It’s tucked away in a small back corner, among the cookbooks and dog-training manuals. Unsurprisingly, the entomology section is meager at best. There’s a lot of elementary-level books about butterflies and the like, but only a few things that would actually be helpful. Dorothea flips through a few of them before settling on a volume about beetle care and a small insect guide. She shudders a bit at the cover, which displays some long, thin bug whose legs are entirely too long, but she figures that it’s not the biggest deal in the world.

She checks out the books and heads back to her car. It’s still a mystery to her, this whole obsession with bugs. But if this is her life now, she might as well try not to look like an idiot, and maybe she’ll end up doing a little better in biology class.

After a silent drive, Dorothea pulls up in front of her home. It’s a duplex, part of a neighborhood of other identical duplexes. Though she’s never seen the other family that shares the house, their frequent arguments often keep her up at night. Fortunately, their lights don’t seem to be on right now.

She steps through the door and grabs some toast from the fridge before making her way up to her room. Dorothea doesn’t bother turning on any of the lights, as she’ll be the only one in the house until about six in the morning, when her mom comes home from work.

Though she wishes her mom were around more often, she can’t exactly blame her. Night shifts, as undesirable as they are, pay just a little bit more, and that difference makes all the world. Of course, they also mean that Dorothea and her mother hardly ever interact, but there’s nothing to be done about it. All it means is that Dorothea’s learned to take care of herself.

She’s hardly even cracked open her history textbook when her phone buzzes. She flips it over, and, much to her dismay, she’s been added into an Entomology Club group chat. It’s not that Dorothea doesn’t like group chats. They’re plenty fun when they’ve got the right people. Suffice to say, a bunch of bug-loving nerds aren’t exactly the “right people.”

Quickly, the members all identify themselves, giving Dorothea an opportunity to put them in her contacts. Her heart leaps a little when she realizes she’s gotten Petra’s number, but she buries the excitement in her chest. Petra’s just being nice to her because she has to. There’s nothing special about it.

Her phone continues to light up with messages. Sighing, Dorothea gives up on any notion of doing homework, and turns her attention to her screen.

_ Caspar: yo anyone wanna play minecraft rn? _

_ Hubert: don’t you have homework to do _

_ Caspar: ya but why workj when u can play minecraf t _

_ Linhardt: and why work when u can nap _

_ Edelgard: Caspar, please do your homework _

_ Ferdinand: If your grades continue to slip, you will not be eligible for club participation! _

_ Caspar: i WILL do my homework _

_ Caspar: after i play somr minecraft first _

_ Hubert: i hate this _

_ Hubert: this is the worst group chat ever _

_ Ferdinand: This is the seventh time you’ve complained about the group chat this week. _

_ Hubert: stfu _

_ Caspar: plz someone play wit me _

_ Ferdinand: Sorry, I’m busy. _

_ Edelgard: We’re all busy _

_ Caspar: damn _

_ Linhardt: ugh fine _

_ Linhardt: ok get on the realm _

_ Caspar: FUCK YEAH _

_ Edelgard: Remind me why I’m paying for a club Minecraft Realm again _

Dorothea flips her phone over. The conversation is going nowhere, and it’s not even fun to watch. Additionally, Petra hasn’t spoken since identifying herself. Of course, this isn’t entirely strange, since Bernadetta hasn’t texted at all, leaving Dorothea to put in her contact information based on the process of elimination. But anyways, Petra’s probably got better things to do. That doesn’t stop Dorothea from feeling a twinge of disappointment.

She glances at her textbook, attempts to read a few pages, then shuts it and puts it back in her bag. Her brain is too wired up to concentrate on matrices and systems of equations. Instead, Dorothea finds herself drawn to the insect guide, which she begins to leaf through casually. At first, she doesn’t give much thought to the words on the page. It’s all gibberish to her anyways. But the more she reads, the more she finds herself drawn into the classifications, the habitats, the slight differences between even the most similar of species. Honestly, she never would have known there were so many kinds of grasshoppers.

Slowly, Dorothea starts to realize that maybe these bug-obsessed kids aren't so bad after all. She knows she's been going back and forth, thinking they're bad and not-so-bad and so on, but if anything, she can't hate people who genuinely care about something. To be honest, that's what she's always wanted to be. She admires their ongoing passion, unlike hers, which shrivels and dies at the first sign of hardship.

Maybe the Entomology Club has the thing she's been looking for this whole time. The very thing she couldn't find in choir, or Drama Club, or those insipid summer acting camps she helped run. And if so, maybe it's worth giving it a shot.

She thinks of Petra, who stayed by her side and helped her even when she was terrified of a harmless bee. And she thinks of Edelgard, who she hasn't talked to in years, but was still willing to take her in. And even the rest of the club members, who treated her like she'd been there from day one. Even during her times of vulnerability, they never took advantage of those weaknesses. In other words, they're nothing like the people Dorothea used to know.

The irony is not lost on her. Actors, always taught to walk in others' shoes, should theoretically be more empathetic than most. And yet the first place Dorothea has found true sympathy is with people who dig the desiccated remains of beetles from their pockets.

She finds herself mildly irritated at the thought of growing to like the Entomology Club. She was once a star, the much loved and envied lead of every play and musical. Now she's on the bottom of the social ladder.

Not that it would be much different if she weren't in Entomology Club. She'd still be an outcast, publicly mocked by her former admirers. At least this way, she has all of seven potential friends.

All this time, while Dorothea's been lost in thought, her phone has been buzzing nonstop with text after text. Annoyed, she goes to put it on "do not disturb" when she notices a message from Edelgard.

_ Edelgard: How did it go today? _

Leave it to Edelgard to ruin Dorothea’s plans for a little peace and quiet. As much as she hates it, there’s no way she can leave her hanging. She hammers out a quick response, hoping to avoid further conversation.

_ Dorothea: it was great _

_ Edelgard: Glad to hear it _

_ Edelgard: Did you and Petra get along okay? _

The problem isn’t whether or not Dorothea got along with Petra. The problem is that Edelgard insists on knowing when Dorothea would rather be face down in her bed.

_ Dorothea: yeah _

_ Edelgard: She said you did great _

Of course she did. Petra’s nice, and kind, and helpful. Maybe a little too much for her own good. Dorothea might be able to enjoy the friendliness now, but it’ll disappear soon enough. Petra won’t be feeling the same when she finds out who Dorothea really is.

_ Dorothea: she did great too _

_ Edelgard: Of course _

_ Edelgard: Petra’s one of our best bug catchers _

_ Edelgard: That’s why I had her partner with you _

_ Edelgard: By the way, Petra’s in your PE class, right? _

That statement causes Dorothea to pause. Come to think of it, Edelgard’s right. But how has she never noticed before, and more importantly, why would Edelgard know something like that?

_ Dorothea: how do you know that? _

_ Edelgard: The track is right outside my science classroom _

_ Edelgard: I can see both of you running during class _

_ Dorothea: ok and? _

_ Edelgard: She left her history textbook in the science room _

_ Edelgard: I don’t have any classes with her, so I can’t get it to her before her history class _

_ Dorothea: ok i guess _

_ Dorothea: but does it have to be me? _

_ Edelgard: You do get along, right? _

_ Edelgard: So it should be no problem _

Of course they get along. Or, well, it’s more that Petra seems to like Dorothea, and Dorothea tries her best not to look stupid in front of her. But it’s still incredibly awkward, considering what they’ve been through. How is Dorothea supposed to face the girl who watched her have a meltdown over a practically harmless bee?

But then again, she’s already on thin ice with Edelgard, who was plenty skeptical about her joining the Entomology Club in the first place. Turning down such a simple favor for isn’t going to buy her any more points.

_ Dorothea: all right fine _

_ Dorothea: when should i pick it up? _

_ Edelgard: I’ll give it to you during language arts _

_ Dorothea: sounds good _

_ Dorothea: see you then _

It doesn’t actually sound good, but it’s not like Edelgard will ever know. Dorothea’s always been in the business of lying to get by, and old habits die hard.

-

The next day, Dorothea ends up walking down the hall to the gym, a thick, nearly square history textbook clutched in her hands. It's heavy, as all textbooks are, but this one seems to carry an extra weight of its own. Dorothea has to hug it to her chest in order to make sure she won't drop it.

The locker room, as usual, is a horrible mix of overly chatty girls, deodorant, and varying levels of self-esteem. Dorothea’s never been shy about her body, and she has no trouble with public changing rooms, but she honestly feels like this kind of arrangement isn’t the best fit for everyone. For every girl who preens herself in the mirror, there’s at least ten more hiding in the bathroom stalls. Hopefully, Petra isn’t one of them, or Dorothea will never be able to find her.

She sets down her backpack on the bench next to her locker, then sets off down the rows to find Petra. Luckily, it doesn’t take too long. Petra’s locker is towards the back, but not too far down, and Dorothea spots her within minutes.

She takes a deep breath. One simple, non-awkward conversation, and it’ll all be over. It won’t even take that long. As a master of empty talk, this should be no problem. And so she hoists the textbook up and makes her way over. However, Petra doesn’t seem to notice Dorothea, and right as she’s about to get her attention, Petra pulls her shirt over her head.

It’s not like Dorothea hasn’t seen other shirtless girls before. She’s spent plenty of time in changing rooms, getting ready alongside her fellow actresses, not to mention all the locker room time she’s accumulated through her various gym classes. But the second she spots Petra’s abs, her brain short-circuits.

Finally, Petra realizes that Dorothea’s standing next to her, and looks up with a smile. “Hello, Dorothea! How are you doing?”

“Uh… good,” Dorothea manages to stammer out. Her eyes drift up, tracing Petra’s muscular arms and strong shoulders. She knew Petra was athletic, especially after watching her climb a tree for a katydid, but there’s nothing that could have prepared her for this. She’s seen varsity football jocks with less defined biceps. She feels as if she’s looking directly into the sun.

Finally, Petra tugs on a tank top, and Dorothea manages to snap back to reality. Petra adjusts the hem before smoothing back her braid. “Is there anything I can be helping you with?” She smiles. Either Petra genuinely hasn’t been paying attention, or she’s kindly pretending not to notice.

“Oh, yeah, um.” Dorothea blinks a couple of times, clearing her mind. She wills herself to focus on Petra’s face. “I have your history textbook. Edelgard asked me to bring it to you.”

Petra’s face brightens, and she gratefully takes the textbook from Dorothea. “Thank you so much! I was very worried that I would not get it back in time for class.”

“Yeah, of course,” says Dorothea. She wonders if Petra knows that her eyes light up when she’s excited. “It was nothing.”

“Always so humble,” laughs Petra. “Is there really no way I can thank you properly?”

Dorothea shakes her head. The faster she gets out of this conversation, the less she can think about how she temporarily lost her mind at Petra’s muscles. “Really, it was just a favor. It’s not a big deal or anything.”

“If you are saying so,” says Petra. “But I still appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Of course,” says Dorothea. And with that, she turns away, shielding her face with her hand. She has no idea what's happening. There's no reason her face should be this warm. But she still has a gym class to get through, and the coach is not going to be happy if she gets out late.

Hoping to clear her head, she heads over to the sink and splashes some water on her face before drying it off with a paper towel. For a moment, she catches her reflection in the mirror, a confused, exhausted girl she barely recognizes. She looks away. It’s only temporary. Though she might not be doing so well at the moment, her new club is the way to the future.

Suddenly, the girl next to her screams. She practically falls backwards, scrambling to get away, and points incoherently at the counter. Other girls instantly rush to her aid, but Dorothea stays put. Instead, she looks into the sink to her right. Precariously perched inside the bowl, its eight spindly legs clinging to the sides, is a small brown spider.

Instinctively, Dorothea flinches. Though not an uncommon sentiment, she still hates the sight of spiders. She just doesn’t like the way their legs look. Those limbs are entirely too long and gangly, and to make matters worse, there’s a shit ton of them.

“Kill it!” screams another girl. “Kill the spider!” Dorothea turns, and sure enough, one brave soul is slowly creeping towards the sink, a shoe in hand. A small army of girls cowers behind her, peeking over her shoulders to witness the deed.

Something doesn’t feel right about this. Sure, Dorothea’s not a fan of it by any stretch of the imagination, but that doesn’t mean killing the spider should be the solution. With any luck, it’ll crawl back down the drain where it came from. But her voice is caught. She can’t bring herself to stick up for the spider, no matter how much she doesn’t want to see it smushed.

The girls inch closer. A few of them cover their eyes, peeking through their fingers, while their leader grimaces. Gathering her courage, she raises the shoe higher and higher, until she finally swings it down with a yell.

“Wait! There is no need to kill it!” Dorothea turns, and suddenly, Petra is there, having caught the arm of the lead girl. She positions herself between the small army and the sink, then gently releases the girl’s arm. “I will take it outside.”

The posse explodes into indignant chatter. The girl with the shoe brandishes it in disbelief. “Are you crazy? It’s easier to kill it!”

“Not to worry,” replies Petra. “This spider is not of the venomous variety.” And with that, she reaches into the sink, lightly brushes the spider into her hand, and cups her other hand over the top.

Another girl shrieks. Petra, wisely, ignores her. “Would you like to come with me, Dorothea? It will only be a short trip outside to set the spider free.”

Surrounded by the eyes of fearful onlookers, Dorothea hesitates. A part of her hates being seen like this, rescuing spiders like some kind of weirdo. And yet, she has nowhere left to fall, nothing left to lose. Her status is gone, and with it, the need to conform and perform. Following her conscience can’t break something that’s already broken. So she gives a slow nod. “Sure thing. Lead the way.”

Dorothea follows Petra out of the locker room and through a set of double doors to the field. There’s no one on the track yet, as it’s almost certainly reserved for their class. The sky is a bright blue, and a warm breeze weaves its way through the sprouting grass, heralding the arrival of spring.

They make their way across the asphalt circle and into the soft patch of turf in the middle. Petra kneels, uncupping her hands, and watches as the small spider meanders away into the grass. Then she straightens and brushes off her knees.

“I am surprised that you came with me,” says Petra. “I was almost certain you would say no.”

The statement comes across not as an accusation, nor a judgement, but Dorothea is taken aback all the same. “What do you mean?”

Petra stares at the sky, choosing her words carefully. She bites her lip. “I saw the fear in your eyes. I am guessing you were afraid of how the other girls would think.”

“I… I didn’t know that. How could you tell?” Dorothea can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or in awe. Maybe a bit of both.

“You looked like a cornered animal. Unsure. Afraid.” Petra turns to Dorothea. “And if I may ask, why?”

So here comes the question Dorothea’s been dreading. She’s been preparing the answer in her mind, running it over and over again to the point of perfection, just waiting for one of the Entomology Club members to ask her. But she’s still caught off guard.

She shrugs halfheartedly. “I don’t know.”

Petra looks skeptical. “Are you sure you do not?”

“It’s fine,” says Dorothea. “I’m used to being judged, you know?”

“If you were used to being judged, you would not have reacted the way you did,” counters Petra. “I am aware of how you used to act. You were popular, very much so. Never did I see you fear something as simple as judgement.”

Dorothea can’t answer that. As much as she hates it, it’s true. She can’t bring herself to meet Petra’s eyes. “Everything’s complicated. It’s different now.”

“I understand,” says Petra. “I know you have changed. But as you encounter new circumstances, others will change too. If you consider me your friend, and if you consider the other club members your friends, you will have no reason to be afraid. I promise.”

The sincerity almost makes Dorothea want to refuse. But somewhere, deep down, she knows Petra absolutely means what she says. She swallows, not daring to speak.

“It will be okay, Dorothea. It will all turn out just fine.” Petra finally turns away from the sky, grinning a hopeful, determined grin. “Because you are with us now. There is nothing to fear.”

And for the first time in months, Dorothea dares to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did way too much research for this fic and now i'm obsessed with bugs


	2. Chapter 2

Dorothea has watched, read, sang, and even acted out countless stories, so naturally, she’s familiar with the various tropes that appear in every story. Sometimes, it just can’t be helped. She’s grown accustomed to them, and they hardly ever irritate her.

But this is a different case. It’s one thing when the same overused story beat shows up time and time again. It’s a whole other case entirely when it works its way into real life.

Standing just outside of the doors to the cafeteria, Dorothea scans the lunchroom, all while mercilessly repeating the same thought over and over again. She hates the inaccuracy of movies that take place in high school. They’re always extremely dramatized and not at all realistic. And yet, here she is, like the outcast protagonist, desperately searching for a place to sit.

She glances back and forth between the long, rectangular table, crowded to near bursting with theatre kids, and the small, round table in the corner, where only six Entomology Club members sit. Though it’s been a while since Dorothea quit Drama Club, she hasn’t run into this problem yet, if only because she’s gotten into the habit of driving away from campus during lunch. Unfortunately, her car is in for repairs, and it’s not like she can take the bus and make it back in time for class.

The decision remains, even as Dorothea self-consciously realizes how strange it looks for her to be staring around the cafeteria. It’s not even a difficult choice, in all honesty. There’s no way she can sit at her former table, as much as she’d like to lose herself in the endless gossip and meaningless chatter. But then again, it would feel weird to sit with the Entomology Club kids. They’re nice enough, and they certainly wouldn’t drive her away, but it still feels like she hasn’t quite earned her place.

Dorothea looks back at that sparse table. Hubert and Ferdinand seem to be having an intense debate. Edelgard sits between them, watching their argument with concern. Meanwhile, Bernadetta is typing something on her computer, blocking out the noise with headphones, and Petra appears to be tutoring Caspar on something. She gestures at the textbook, writes something on a sheet of notebook paper, then slides it over to Caspar, who attempts to do the same.

Briefly, Dorothea wonders what it would like to have Petra tutor her. She seems like a very good teacher, someone who’s skilled at explaining complicated concepts. Maybe she’d help Dorothea actually pass Algebra II. Then again, she is already helping Dorothea learn about bugs, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask about math, too.

Even though the lunch table is small, it feels inviting. Instead of the big, noisy conglomerates that Dorothea’s used to, it’s more like a community. They all seem to be getting along fine, whether they’re squabbling or off in their own world or working together. She’d love to sit there. She really would. But Dorothea doesn’t deserve something like this. The Entomology Club works because it is just that: a club. She’ll see them once a week, and it’ll be enough.

Besides, Dorothea barely knows them. She’s really only talked to them once, and it was more like brief introductions. Maybe another time. And with that, Dorothea turns on her heel and makes her way down to the library.

The library is the ideal place for Dorothea to spend her lunch period. For one thing, she didn’t even bother to get food, so she won’t get in trouble for eating near the books. And secondly, the only people who hide in the library are antisocial losers who don’t have anywhere else to go. So it’s exactly where she belongs.

She opens the door and makes her way to the back of the book section. No one will notice if she hides between the encyclopedia shelves and goes on her phone. It’s not her favorite way of spending half an hour, but she’s got no other options.

Dorothea doesn’t expect other people to be there. And any other time, she would be right, because no one reads thick volumes of world history for fun. But today, as she finds her usual hiding spot, she sees another student there, casually perusing the section on geography and land ownership.

She recognizes the green ponytail instantly. It’s Linhardt, the sleepy guy from Entomology Club, the guy who related to cocoons and death-feigning beetles. It explains why he wasn’t at the lunch table, but it doesn’t explain why he has to be here, inconveniently ruining Dorothea’s plans for self-isolation.

He doesn’t seem to notice Dorothea. Maybe if she sneaks out quietly, she can find a different section to camp out in.

She’s just about to leave when Linhardt speaks. “Hello, Dorothea.” So much for that. She looks back, and he’s still staring down at the encyclopedia in his hands. “Did you come to read about tectonic plate movement as well?”

No, she most certainly did not, but she’s not going to be the one to tell him. “Sorry, I was looking for something else. And I was just leaving, so don’t worry about it.”

Finally, Linhardt closes his book and looks up, staring slightly to the left of Dorothea’s face. “I didn’t expect you to be the type to hang around in the library during lunch.”

“Well, you learn something new every day,” Dorothea fires back. The anger in her words surprises her, and she covers her mouth with her hand.

“Wow. Sensitive much?” Linhardt blinks, his calm demeanor only betrayed by his wide eyes.

“I’m sorry,” says Dorothea, hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Linhardt just shrugs. “It’s fine. Is this a touchy subject for you or something?”

“Not exactly,” says Dorothea, lying through her teeth. “I just have a lot of work to do. That’s all.”

“I see,” says Linhardt. “Well then, don’t waste your time talking to me. I’ll just be here, minding my own business.”   


Dorothea nods slowly. She doesn’t quite want to leave yet, though, and talking to Linhardt might distract her more than moping around by herself. Before Linhardt can return to his book, she interrupts. “But why are you here?”

Linhardt turns around slowly. “Why am I here? The answer’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Then why aren’t you sitting with the other Entomology Club people? They’re all at lunch right now, you know,” says Dorothea.

“I could ask the same of you,” replies Linhardt. “Oh, but you said you were busy. So it makes sense that you’re up here, talking to me, when you could be getting work done in a different part of the library.”

This kid makes Dorothea want to tear her hair out. The combination of his quick wits and deadpan tone is so damn infuriating, and yet she can’t bring herself to get mad at him. She sighs. “Okay, fine, so I’m not here to work on homework. What about it?”

“Nothing wrong with that. I don’t usually do work here myself,” says Linhardt.

“Then what do you usually do?” Now Dorothea’s totally lost. She just doesn’t get this guy.

“Well, I come back here, read a few dry volumes on ancient military strategy or the biology behind grass growth, get sleepy, and take a nap. It’s an excellent way to stay rested and refreshed,” he says. He opens his backpack, revealing a blanket and pillow among his other supplies.

“So… instead of eating lunch, you come in here and sleep?” Dorothea can hardly believe it. First beetles that play dead, and now this?

Linhardt nods. “That’s correct. After all, how am I supposed to sleep in the cafeteria, with everyone yelling and screaming all the time? It’d be impossible.”

“You could try earplugs,” says Dorothea.

“I could. I’ve never considered that before. But I find that the library tables are much warmer and cozier than those in the cafeteria,” he says. “Are you here to take a nap, too?”

“Uh, no,” says Dorothea. “I’m not much of a napper.”

Linhardt stares straight ahead, still not meeting Dorothea’s eyes. Come to think of it, he’s never actually made eye contact with her. “Well then, if you’re not doing work and you’re not taking a nap, why are you here?”

When Dorothea remains silent for just a tad too long, Linhardt reaches into his bag and takes out his blanket and pillow. “It’s okay, I like to avoid people sometimes, too.”

The observation hits just a little too close to its mark. “I’m not avoiding anyone!” Dorothea protests. “Why is it so suspicious that I’m in the library?”

Linhardt puts his pillow on the floor. “I’ve never seen you not surrounded by a massive group of people. It’s weird to see you alone, and it’s weird that you’re talking to me.”

Dorothea crosses her arms and frowns. “It’s not that weird. We’re in the same club.”

“Yeah, since a couple of days ago,” says Linhardt.

“So? What’s the big deal with that?” asks Dorothea.

He points at the wall, where an old poster is taped up. It’s promoting last semester’s musical, the last one Dorothea did before quitting Drama Club altogether. “You were the lead in that show, weren’t you?”

Not again. Dorothea grimaces. “Yeah, maybe I was.”

“Excellent job, by the way. But I know for a fact that Drama Club meets several days a week, so you wouldn’t have time to join something as arbitrary as Entomology Club,” says Linhardt.

Dorothea stays silent. There’s nothing she can say to that. Instead, she simply watches Linhardt unfold his blanket and spread it over the ground.

“Theatre kids can be real assholes,” says Linhardt, to no one in particular. “And I’m very sorry you had to realize that. Good night.” With that, he burrows underneath the blanket, closes his eyes, and goes to sleep.

“Hey, wait a second,” says Dorothea, scrambling to kneel next to Linhardt’s unconscious form. She grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “What was that? What are you trying to tell me?”

Linhardt doesn’t respond. He even begins to snore lightly, which Dorothea is almost sure is fake.

“I’m talking to you,” Dorothea says. She shakes him again. In response, Linhardt starts snoring even louder.

Eventually, Dorothea gives up. She stands, readjusting her backpack straps. Clearly, this conversation did nothing but make her vaguely confused and annoyed. She shouldn’t have expected much else from a guy who literally laid down on the floor and went to sleep, but she’s starting to worry. At this point, more and more people are seeing through her ruse, and she’s not sure how much longer she can keep it up. Of course she was planning to come clean at some point, but this is not at all how she imagined it.

She takes one last look at Linhardt, resting peacefully on the ground, and walks over to the next section. That day can wait a little longer. For now, she’ll bide her time, spending her lunches by herself. She’s not that lonely anyways.

-

The bus sucks. It’s crowded, it’s slow, and Dorothea’s only options are to either stare out the window or bury her head in her phone. She can’t do homework without spilling papers all over the floor. It’s a complete and total waste of time, and yet there’s nothing she can do about it.

A few moments after she pops in her earbuds and cranks up the volume, a message comes in on her phone.

_ Edelgard: By the way, have you had the opportunity to buy your own gear yet? _

Seriously? She only started attending yesterday, and it’s not like Dorothea has the desire to go out and buy things she doesn’t need.

_ Dorothea: no _

_ Edelgard: I would recommend getting your own equipment as soon as you can _

_ Edelgard: I feel bad making you use my hand-me-downs _

To be completely honest, Dorothea had no idea she was using Edelgard’s old net and container. They seemed to work just fine. Then again, she wasn’t the one doing the catching, so she wouldn’t know if there were problems or not.

_ Dorothea: it’s fine _

_ Dorothea: and i don’t even know where to buy stuff like that _

_ Edelgard: You can usually find decent nets at hardware or science supply stores _

_ Edelgard: If you must, you can also buy a kid’s net in the toy section, although those fall apart pretty quickly _

_ Edelgard: For carriers, you can get one of the small plastic kind they sell at pet stores _

_ Edelgard: Does that help? _

It’s simple enough, for sure. But Dorothea’s less concerned about where to buy these things and more concerned with if she can even buy these things in the first place. She mentally scrolls through her groceries from the past few weeks, hoping to find a few extra dollars left over, and comes up with nothing. Figures.

_ Dorothea: idk, i don’t know if i want to spend that much on something i just started getting into _

_ Dorothea: no offense _

_ Edelgard: It’s okay, I completely understand _

_ Edelgard: We also have some club funds left over from last year’s fundraiser _

_ Dorothea: don’t you have better things to buy? _

_ Dorothea: i literally just joined _

_ Edelgard: All we do is catch bugs and talk about them _

_ Edelgard: No competitions, no conferences, no performances _

_ Edelgard: Our club expenses are very low _

_ Dorothea: are you sure? _

_ Edelgard: Yes, I’m sure _

_ Edelgard: Our club treasurer is Ferdinand, so he has the most access to our funds _

_ Edelgard: I’ll let him know, and you can arrange a shopping trip with him _

A shopping trip? With Ferdinand? Dorothea can’t think of anything less appealing. But if Edelgard insists, who is she to say no? And she does like the idea of not having to go out and buy a net on her own. She’d rather not use her own money, and she’d definitely rather not explain why she’s out buying something like that.

Dorothea closes her phone and slips it back into her pocket. She’ll let Ferdinand text her first, if he really decides to go along with the plan. Best case scenario, he never will, and Dorothea can forget all about it.

-

The last place Dorothea wants to be on a Saturday morning is in a stupid red polo shirt, tending the clothing counter at a big chain retailer. Unfortunately, that’s how she’s been spending the last year’s worth of Saturdays, not to mention shifts on Sunday and after school, too.

Luckily, the soul-crushing work is slightly balanced out by her coworkers, who make the hours pass much quicker. Dorothea’s glad she actually gets along with them, unlike some of the horror stories she’s heard.

Today, she’s in the clothing section with Hilda, an easygoing girl around her age. As always, her coworker’s hair is done up in bright pink twintails, and her makeup is impeccable. If Hilda wasn’t so nonchalant, Dorothea might even be scared of her.

“Man, this sucks,” says Hilda, folding a shirt. It’s not unusual for her to complain. In fact, she does so quite often. Dorothea’s heard the rumors about Hilda: she’s a rich girl, the child of two superstar models, and the only reason she’s working is because her parents got fed up with her laziness.

Wordlessly, Dorothea agrees, only signaling her assent with a nod of her head. She doesn’t like it either, but she’s not about to add fuel to the fire.

After finishing a pile, Dorothea takes it over to a shelf and begins loading the shirts on it, starting from the largest sizes on the bottom and the smallest on the top. The shirts themselves are nothing special, just more versions of the same nondescript, off-brand clothing the manufacturer continually pumps out.

She’s just about finished when she hears a voice behind her. It seems to be an elderly man, saying words she can’t quite make out. Though she’s not sure if it’s addressed at her, Dorothea glances back, not wanting to ignore a potential customer in need of help.

Sure enough, an old man is standing next to her, leaning heavily on his walker. His build indicates that he was probably fairly athletic in his younger age, but his eyes are no longer sharp, instead clouded with confusion. His tan skin is weathered and rough, and his long, gray hair neatly brushed.

The man speaks again. This time, Dorothea realizes that she couldn’t understand his words not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because he’s speaking a different language entirely.

She listens patiently until he finishes, then says, “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand what you’re saying. I could take you over to customer services, though, and they might have someone who can help you.”

Before she can do anything else, another voice enters the fray. “Grandfather! There you are! I have been looking everywhere for you!”

The old man turns at the sound, and a young woman runs to his side, battering him with questions in the same foreign language. He brushes them aside, refusing her help, while she insists on supporting his arm as he walks. Dorothea doesn’t quite know what to do in this situation. On one hand, she’s glad they’ve been reunited, but on the other, it’s a bit awkward for her to just be standing there.

Then, the other girl looks up, addressing Dorothea. The apology spills out in rushed, embarrassed words. “I am so sorry if my grandfather has bothered you. You see, he is growing old and he is always wandering off, and he has difficulty speaking any language except for Brigidan. I apologize if he startled you, or scared you, or… or…” Her words trail off as she and Dorothea come to the same realization.

Standing across from her, the old man’s granddaughter is none other than Petra, the girl from Entomology Club. Dorothea’s not sure what else to say. There’s nothing she feels like she can say without ruining an already delicate situation.

Petra clears her throat, looking away. “Excuse me. I… I have to go.” Quickly, she leads her grandfather out of the aisle, disappearing from Dorothea’s sight.

“Wait! Petra!” Before she can stop herself, Dorothea whirls around, calling after her.

The only response she gets is a quick stolen look from over Petra’s shoulder. The expression on her face is unreadable, a confusing mask barely betraying the emotions underneath. Humiliation? Guilt? Shame? Dorothea can hardly tell.

Slowly, she goes back into the aisle, finishes her sorting, and makes her way back to the storage room. Hilda is still there, now placing hideously sparkly windbreakers on coat hangers. Upon Dorothea’s return, she looks up, surprised. “Are you okay? You look, like, sad or something.”

Does she really? Hastily, Dorothea pulls her face into a smile, trying not to get lost in thought. “I’m fine,” she says, lying to herself and to Hilda. There’s no use worrying about it. It wasn’t anything personal.

Hilda raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “What, did you have a bad run-in with a customer or something?” When Dorothea doesn’t respond, she adds, “Who was it? I’ll go over there and smack them myself.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that,” says Dorothea, trying to smooth over the issue as quickly as possible. “Really, I’m okay.”

“If you say so,” says Hilda.

After that, they continue working side-by-side, folding and shelving clothes, barely a word passing between them. Hilda seems to sense something off with Dorothea, but she remains quiet, and Dorothea does the same. To be frank, she doesn’t want Hilda to know. And it wasn’t a big deal anyway. She can get over it herself.

The long silence is interrupted by the manager, who peeks into the storage room and beckons for Dorothea to come over. “Hey, we don’t have enough people at the cash register. Can you take over for a bit?”

“Sure thing,” says Dorothea. And so she ends up behind a conveyor belt, scanning items and swiping cards. Five minutes in, she remembers why she specifically applied for the shelving and stocking position. Having to interact with customers is exhausting. She can put on an act as well as the best of them, but there’s something especially tiring about fake politeness.

The customers pass by in a line, each of their faces blurring together until Dorothea swears she’s seen all of them before. It seems like at least every other person is the same suburban mom out shopping for the same groceries and supplies. Over and over, Dorothea smiles, offers empty, friendly words, and slides the purchases over to the bagger. The train never ends.

She’s still in this haze when she offers an automatic greeting to the next guy in line, scans a pair of socks, and tosses them over to the right. She goes to punch in the numbers when he opens his mouth, snapping her out of her stupor.

“Geez, Dorothea, didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” His mouth is twisted into a sneer, not unlike the familiar lopsided smirks she once fell for. “Guess you couldn’t run forever, huh?”

Shit. Not him. Not now. Dorothea’s chest seizes with fear, earning concerned glances from the people around her. The bagger, Ingrid, looks back and forth between them, before glaring at the customer. “Can I help you?”

In response, he laughs, cruelly. “Me? I’m not the one who needs help. You might wanna ask her, though. I’ve heard there’s something going around for double-crossing sluts.”

Upon hearing those words, Dorothea flinches. She hasn’t heard them in a while, but she’s never forgotten the sting of insults slung her way.

Ingrid’s words are firm. “Sir, if you have a personal issue with one of our staff, you can handle that on your own time. Please take your items and go.”

“Whatever, lady. No need to be rude.” After one last dirty look, he snatches his things from the counter and stalks away, leaving Dorothea in a state of shock.

“Are you okay, Dorothea?” asks Ingrid, voice full of worry. “I’m sorry you had to deal with him.”

Dorothea just shakes her head, unable to speak. If anything, she deserves this. She’s a terrible person, and it’s all her fault, and nothing would have happened if she had just-

“Dorothea. I’m serious.” Ingrid’s voice cuts through the din. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry,” says Dorothea, still too shaken to say much else.

“You don’t need to apologize,” says Ingrid. She pauses, considering. “I think you should go take a break. I can cover for you.”

Dorothea’s not sure if she heard right. She looks at Ingrid, surprised. “Wait, no, are you serious? Really, I can do it. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Don’t worry about me. Take five, and then we’ll talk, okay?” Ingrid squeezes around her, now focused on the next customer.

With nothing else left to do, Dorothea turns, slowly, and makes her way over to the break room.

-

Supposedly, the days are getting longer, and yet it’s already dark when Dorothea steps outside after work. She longs for the day when it’s still bright out once she leaves the store. Instead, it just feels like she’s been at her job for far too long, having lost track of time and the outside world.

She opens her phone and checks the bus schedule. She won’t get a ride until at least another ten minutes. Still, she’d rather wait at the bus stop instead of inside the store. She’s spent enough time in there already.

As she makes her way across the parking lot, making sure to stay underneath the fading orange street lamps, she recounts the day’s events in her head. First Petra, then that guy. As stand-alone events, she might have been able to brush them aside. But when colliding on the same day, Dorothea feels like she’s going crazy, like the world is out to get her.

She still wonders why Petra was in such a hurry to leave. Of course, Dorothea knows it’s not any of her business, but she can’t help wanting some sort of explanation.

Then again, she’s got plenty of secrets of her own, and she wouldn’t enjoy sharing them, either. Maybe it’s best to just pretend she never saw anything.

The sound of a car begins to draw near, and Dorothea tenses. She’s still on edge from the run-ins during her shift, but she tries to calm herself down and stay walking at a normal pace. It’s a parking lot. Of course there’s going to be cars. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Even so, she can’t help but peek over her shoulder, making sure the isn’t following her. She breathes a sigh of relief when the car pulls into a parking space, and its lights go dark.

The relief disappears when the driver steps out.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, instinctively looking for a place to run. Even though she’s at a shopping square, she’s in the middle of the parking lot, and all the stores are too far away. She’ll never make it in time. “Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough?”

“There’s no reason to be like that. I thought you’d be happy to see me.” Her ex-boyfriend pauses, running a hand through his stupid, bleached hair. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you today. Not with that other girl hanging around.”

“We were working,” says Dorothea, fighting the accelerating pulse of her heart. “We were busy.”

“Yeah, that was always your excuse. Too busy to see me, right?” A harsh laugh leaks from his lips. “Too busy with other men!”

Dorothea wants nothing other than to escape this conversation, go home, and forget any of this ever happened. But she can’t ignore the impending threat in front of her, and she has to find a way to get out of this, fast. “Look, I’m sorry. But what’s done is done. We’re over. Now leave me alone.”

He scowls. “That’s how it is, huh? You want me to leave you alone?” Menacingly, he strides forward, then lunges, catching Dorothea by the arm. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have dumped me for some stupid loser on the baseball team!”

“Let go of me!” She tugs at her arm, trying to break free. When that doesn't work, she tries to run, still to no avail. His grip is too strong, pulling her away and back until she falls on the pavement. She rolls over, trying to shield her face from incoming hits.

He rears his arm back, preparing to strike. “You stupid bitch! This’ll teach you to  —  ngh!” Out of nowhere, an arm lashes out, catching the man in the face. Dorothea hears a thud as her attacker hits the ground, and he curls up, cradling his chin. Stunned, she looks up, and standing there, shoulders heaving, is Petra.

“Take my hand, we need to go!” Before she can completely process what’s happening, Dorothea is pulled to her feet, running across the lot with Petra. “I have parked over here. Get in!”

Dorothea slides into the passenger seat of an old, beat up sedan, and a few moments later, Petra is in the driver’s seat next to her. The other girl jams in her keys, revving the engine, before peeling out of the shopping square and onto the road.

Ten minutes later, they’re parked in front of a grocery store, catching their breath. Petra pulls up the parking brake, then removes her keys. She stares straight ahead before letting her head fall on the steering wheel. “I think we are safe now.”

Dorothea blinks, then brushes her hair out of her eyes, still trying to process everything that’s just happened. “What the fuck was that?”

Petra winces. “I am sorry that I startled you. I did not know what else to do.”

“Where did you even come from?” asks Dorothea. “I thought you were out shopping with your grandfather.”

“I was,” says Petra. She points to the backseat, where Dorothea finally notices the elderly man’s sleeping form. “He had gotten tired, so I took him back to the car.”

“You shopped for an entire day?”

“Yes,” says Petra, nodding. “It is the only exercise he gets. He cannot leave the house on his own.”

“Oh.” Dorothea doesn’t know what to say. “I see.”

They sit there, not looking at each other, until Petra speaks. “Your face,” she says. “It is hurt.”

“Wait, really?” Dorothea feels her forehead, and sure enough, her hand comes away with blood.

“Here, if I am remembering correctly…” Petra leans over, opening the glove compartment, before pulling out a bag of wipes and a small box of bandages. She pulls out a wipe and gestures towards Dorothea’s face. “May I?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to,” says Dorothea, awkwardly waving her hands in objection. “I can take care of it. I’m okay.”

“The blood is dripping into your eye,” states Petra, matter-of-factly. “You are not okay.”

It seems their equal stubbornness will get them nowhere. Finally, Dorothea concedes, if only because she can’t take care of wounds she can’t even see. “Fine. Just this once.”

Carefully, Petra begins cleaning Dorothea’s face, and Dorothea's heartbeat begins to fall in time with the soft, rhythmic stroke of her touch. After a long, stressful day, Dorothea gradually begins to calm down.

“Do you go out with your grandfather every weekend?” she asks, if only to give her something else to focus on.

Petra pauses, glancing back at her sleeping grandfather, before resuming her work on Dorothea’s cuts. “Yes, I do.”

“Wow. That’s dedication,” says Dorothea.

“It’s nothing,” replies Petra.

“Do your parents make you spend time with him?”

The breath catches in Petra’s throat before she answers. And when she does, the grief in her voice nearly breaks Dorothea’s heart. “My grandfather… he is all I have.”

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” says Dorothea, berating herself for her ignorance and the painful emptiness of her words. “I didn’t know.”

If Petra holds any resentment, she doesn’t show it. “I live with my grandfather. Both of my parents passed when I was very young. He took care of me, and now that he is entering old age, I take care of him.” She looks Dorothea in the eye. “That is why I was embarrassed when I saw you earlier. My life may not be easy, but it is not hard, either. I do not want people to pity me. Now hold still.”

Petra picks up the box of bandages and opens it, selecting a few of the medium-sized ones. She meticulously peels open the wrappers, then applies the bandages to Dorothea’s face, her fingers lightly brushing Dorothea’s cheek. Once finished, she leans back, examining her handiwork.

“How are you feeling?” asks Petra, still looking over the now-covered wounds.

Dorothea reaches a hand up to feel the bandages on her own face, then lets it drop back down. She still wants to apologize to Petra, but she knows that’s the exact opposite of what Petra wants. So she keeps her response short. “Yeah. Much better. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Petra tidies away the supplies and puts them back in her glove box. She is silent for a while before clearing her throat. “I understand if you do not want to talk about this, and I do not mean to pry. But who was that man, Dorothea?”

Normally, Dorothea would shrug the question off, but for whatever reason, she doesn’t even want to bother lying about it. The run-in was scary enough, and she’s sick of hiding it from everyone. She grimaces. “An ex-boyfriend. You know how they are.”

Petra is serious. “No, I don’t. But it does not seem okay to attack someone over something like that.”

“It’s fine,” says Dorothea. “I deserved it.”

There’s a sharp inhale from Petra, one that shocks Dorothea as well. Petra looks at her with hurt and worry in her eyes. “How can you say that?”

“I… It’s complicated.” Internally, Dorothea berates herself for letting that slip. She usually never lets on with her self-loathing, but one stupid mistake and now she’s the center of attention. “It was my fault. There were a lot of things I shouldn’t have done.”

“And there were a lot of things he should not have done, either,” says Petra. “He is in the wrong here. Not you.”

“Even though I cheated on him? Even though I was dating three guys at the same time?” Dorothea swallows. “Tell me, Petra. Wouldn’t you be angry too?”

“I would feel betrayed. I would feel sad, and frustrated, and foolish. But I would never hurt you, or anyone else, because of it.”

Dorothea bites her lip. Petra’s words make sense, and yet, they sound too good to be true. No one would ever show that kind of mercy to her. “I guess.”

Petra looks as if she has something else to say, but she lets the topic drop. “It is getting late. Are you needing a ride home?”

After all that, Dorothea would prefer not to take the bus. She nods. “Yes, that would be great. But only if you’re okay with that.”

“There is no need to be humble,” says Petra, settling back into her seat. “I would be glad to.”

-

“This is it,” says Dorothea, pointing to the duplex on the side of the road. If it were anyone other than Petra driving her home, she’d be self-conscious about her house, but she feels no anxiety now. “The one on the right.”

Petra nods in acknowledgement, then pulls over to the sidewalk. This whole time, the car has been silent, save for the intermittent snoring of Petra’s grandfather. It’s been a bit awkward, but Dorothea is thankful. She’s exhausted, and she doesn’t need any more chances to make a fool out of herself.

Once the car rolls to a stop, Dorothea unbuckles her seatbelt, looking back at Petra. “Thank you for the ride.”

“Um, yes,” says Petra, suddenly awkward. She stops, thinking something over, before giving a short nod. “Let me get the door for you.”

Before Dorothea can protest, Petra is out of her seat and standing by the passenger-side window. She opens the door for Dorothea, then holds it, patiently waiting for her to step out.

“You didn’t have to do that,” says Dorothea, flustered. Never once has anyone gotten the door for her, much less some random girl she just reminded of her dead parents. She doesn’t deserve this.

“No, I… it was nothing,” says Petra, similarly bashful. “Just manners.”

Just manners? Dorothea can’t help but smile, the pounding in her chest growing stronger. “What’s next, are you going to walk me to my door?”

She almost regrets saying it until Petra bites her lip and looks away, nervously kicking at the ground. “...Yes?”

She can’t be serious. “It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it,” stammers Dorothea, her face growing warm. “I was just joking.”

“I would not feel right just leaving you in front of your house by yourself,” says Petra. “I just wanted to make sure you felt safe.”

Dammit. She’s serious. And strangely, Dorothea finds herself wanting it, too. She hides her smile, trying not to let on. “If you must.”

And so the two of them make their way up the concrete steps and up to the front door, where Dorothea lets herself in with a key. She steps inside her house, flicks on a light, and looks back. There, Petra stands in the doorway, still as self-conscious as before. That view of Petra, with her braid coming undone and her hands shoved in the pockets of her torn shorts, makes Dorothea’s heart skip a beat. Could it be…?

“Good night, Dorothea,” says Petra, still gazing at the floor.

“Good night, Petra. See you tomorrow.”

With that, Dorothea closes the door, shutting out the remnants of her day and her confusing, thrilling feelings.

-

Normally, Dorothea would say she’s used to having eyes on her. After all, being a performer, and a popular one at that, means familiarity with audience scrutiny. But still, she can’t help but feel an uneasy prickle at the back of her neck as she makes her way across the cafeteria.

Maybe she’s only imagining the sets of eyes examining her every move. But imaginary or not, they make every cell in Dorothea’s body scream at her to turn and run.

With every footstep, she continues to repeat her silent mantra. No more running, no more running, no more running.

A girl turns to whisper to her friend.

A group of jocks laugh as she passes.

And that table, the one where she used to belong, is watching. They’re sneaky about it, subtle with their glances, but she knows. They’re waiting to see where she sits.

Dorothea is almost about to give in to the stress when she finally throws her bag onto the table with a thud. It hits the surface a little harder than she intended, causing Bernadetta to yelp and slam her laptop shut, but finally, Dorothea is able to breathe. She’s made it.

Edelgard raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Dorothea.”

“Yeah, me neither,” says Dorothea, as flippantly as possible. Though her voice may not show it, her heart is still pounding, still running on the fear of what everyone else is thinking. But something about the Entomology Club puts her that much more at ease.

“I was wondering when you’d finally show,” says Hubert. “Where have you been spending your lunches, anyways?”

“With your mom,” says Dorothea, earning a hastily muffled snort from Caspar and a shocked giggle from Edelgard. Even Ferdinand seems to be barely holding in a laugh.

Hubert scowls. “Very funny.”

“Here, Dorothea, let me be moving my bag.” Petra takes her backpack out of the chair beside her and sets it on the floor, then moves it back for Dorothea. “You can sit next to me.”

Despite herself, Dorothea can’t help but smile as she takes her seat. “Thank you, Petra.”

“Of course. I am glad that you are here.”

With that, the normal chaos resumes, with no hesitation for Dorothea’s sudden arrival. Caspar noisily tries to steal some of Ferdinand’s fries, Edelgard winces as Hubert tries to show her a picture of a bird-eating spider, Bernadetta goes back to her typing. It’s pure mayhem. And Dorothea loves it.

After a few moments have passed, Dorothea sneaks a glance over at Petra’s earnest face, the other girl’s eyes lighting up with excitement as she tells Ferdinand about the hornet’s nest above the school pool. And suddenly, Dorothea’s anxieties melt away. The whispers and looks don’t seem to matter as much anymore. As long as she’s here, with the rest of the Entomology Club, she doesn’t have to worry.

This table, this ragtag group of bug-obsessed loners, was never her first choice for friends, at least not while she still cared enough to pick and choose. But strangely, Dorothea doesn’t mind. It feels like she was meant to be here. Like she belongs with them.

Like she was never meant to be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this episode brought to you by hayley kiyoko's girls like girls


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been uhhhh a while since i updated this fic. i'm still planning on finishing it, life just got a little crazy. hopefully the next chapter doesn't take six months to write, thanks for reading!

It’s Saturday, and for once, Dorothea doesn’t have work. She doesn’t really plan to do much with the day, maybe catch up on some work and watch TV, but right now, she’s content to stay in bed for just a little longer. It’s not often that she gets to sleep in like this.

That is, until the phone on her bedside table buzzes, jolting Dorothea out of her drowsy thoughts. Before she can think better of it, she rolls over and checks the screen, expecting some sort of stupid hate text or group chat spam. But instead, she’s utterly lost.

_ Caspar: hey anyone hav good turnip prices rn _

Turnip prices? What is this, a farmer’s market? Dorothea knows it’s the Entomology Club chat, but she still unlocks her phone to take a closer look. Isn’t their focus on bugs, not vegetables?

_ Edelgard: It’s six in the morning _

_ Caspar: its also SATURADAY _

_ Caspar: i gotta sell these turnips before they go bad!!!!!! _

_ Edelgard: I don’t use the stalk market sorry _

_ Caspar: ur missng out _

_ Caspar: hey lin what about u _

_ Caspar: lin _

_ Caspar: hey _

_ Caspar: linhardttttt _

_ Caspar: linhardt von hevring if u dont answer this text right now i will come to ur island and take all ur crossbred roses _

_ Edelgard: He’s probably asleep _

_ Caspar: fuck _

_ Caspar: anyone? _

_ Hubert: would it kill you to not spam the fucking group chat _

_ Hubert: i am this close to blocking your number _

_ Caspar: do it u wont _

_ Caspar: also how r ur turnip prices _

_ Hubert: abysmal leave me alone _

That’s it. Dorothea’s definitely not sleeping in today. Sure, she could turn her notifications off, but she doesn’t like not knowing what’s happening. Instead, she drags herself out of bed and heads downstairs.

There’s nothing really exciting in the fridge and Dorothea doesn’t feel much like eating anyways, but she still forces herself to pull out a few slices of bread and stick them in the toaster. As much as she wants to, she knows it’s bad to skip breakfast, so she usually tries to remember to eat in the mornings. Unfortunately, she’s not quite as good at remembering meals through the rest of the day.

Once the toast is ready, Dorothea brings the plate over to the kitchen table and opens the group chat once more. She still doesn’t understand anything they’re talking about, but she figures it’s worth staying updated.

_ Ferdinand: Unfortunately, my turnip prices are bad as well :( _

_ Caspar: who taught ferdinand to use text emoji _

_ Ferdinand: Why, do you not like them? :( _

_ Caspar: this is cursed _

_ Edelgard: Does it bother you, Caspar? :( _

_ Caspar: STOP IT NOT YOU TOO _

_ Hubert: >:) _

_ Edelgard: >:) _

_ Ferdinand: >:) _

_ Dorothea: >:) _

_ Caspar: fuck u guys _

_ Caspar: oh wait hi dorothea _

_ Ferdinand: Good morning, Dorothea! :) _

_ Edelgard: Good morning! _

_ Dorothea: hi _

_ Edelgard: Did we wake you up _

_ Dorothea: kind of _

_ Caspar: sorry _

_ Dorothea: it’s ok, i’m used to it _

_ Caspar: used to people waking u up? _

_ Dorothea: no haha _

_ Dorothea: used to waking up early _

_ Caspar: ah ok i gotchu _

_ Caspar: also where is evetyone else _

_ Edelgard: Asleep, probably _

_ Hubert: like normal people _

_ Caspar: tbh fair _

_ Caspar: yall r early risers lmao _

_ Edelgard: So are you _

_ Caspar: got a lot to do! _

_ Caspar: cant waste time sleeping _

_ Edelgard: Understandable _

_ Ferdinand: Did you go for a run this morning, Caspar? _

_ Caspar: u bet _

_ Caspar: im not giving up on our challegne _

_ Ferdinand: Lucky for you, neither will I! _

_ Hubert: what inane challenge is this _

_ Caspar: we run 5 miles every day _

_ Caspar: first person to give up loses _

_ Ferdinand: No losers so far! _

_ Hubert: wonderful _

_ Hubert: i hope your knees give out in traffic _

_ Caspar: i think u would be happier if u exercised more _

_ Caspar: get some sun pale boy _

_ Hubert: fuck you _

Honestly, Dorothea thinks Hubert would be even more upset if he exercised. She tries to conjure up a mental image of him actually doing physical activity, and draws a total blank. Her imagination simply can’t handle the idea of this lanky, vampire-looking boy going for a jog, much less enjoying it.

She’s considering editing his face onto a picture of Dracula when a text comes in from Edelgard. Unfortunately, it’s not on the group chat, which can only mean it’s meant specifically for her.

_ Edelgard: Would you like some good news _

_ Dorothea: what’s your definition of good news _

_ Edelgard: I set up a day for you and Ferdinand to go to buy gear together _

That is far from good news in Dorothea’s book. She doesn’t hate Ferdinand, per se, but she can barely stand his overeager, diligent personality. As someone who’s just trying to make it through the days, it annoys her to see someone making an effort, and way too much effort at that. She’s surprised he isn’t on student council. He’d fit right in with all the other busybodies.

_ Dorothea: great _

_ Edelgard: Do you actually think it’s great or are you saying that just to say it _

_ Dorothea: i’m just saying it’s great that’s all _

_ Edelgard: Right _

_ Edelgard: What’s bothering you about it? _

_ Dorothea: nothing’s bothering me _

_ Edelgard: If it’s too sudden, I can find a different time _

_ Dorothea: no the time is fine _

_ Edelgard: Then what is it? _

_ Dorothea: do you really want to know? _

_ Edelgard: Yes, how else am I going to solve the problem? _

_ Dorothea: you’re not going to like it _

_ Edelgard: Try me _

_ Dorothea: why ferdinand? _

_ Edelgard: I told you already _

_ Edelgard: He’s the club treasurer and therefore has the most access to our finances _

_ Edelgard: The club can pay for your gear so you won’t have to _

_ Dorothea: ok then you can just pick something out for me _

_ Dorothea: i don’t even have to be there _

_ Edelgard: We could, but that would defeat the purpose _

_ Edelgard: Everyone in the club has their own gear which they chose themselves _

_ Edelgard: It’s important _

_ Dorothea: aren’t all nets the same? _

_ Edelgard: No, not even close _

_ Edelgard: You’ll see when you go shopping with Ferdinand _

_ Dorothea: fine _

_ Edelgard: Thank you, Dorothea _

It’s a little bit annoying, how patronizing Edelgard sounds, but Dorothea knows it’s in part because she’s being difficult. Even so, she’s not just going to let Edelgard send her off to buy bug nets with some guy she barely talks to. Dorothea’s earned the right to be a little bit stubborn. Or at least, she’s earned the right to not want to go shopping with someone who has the same personality as a politician-in-training.

She flips over her phone and pushes it away from her, trying to focus on her breakfast instead. One of these days, she’ll go shopping with Ferdinand. But for now, she just wants to eat her toast in peace.

-

Dorothea nevers knows what to expect during Entomology Club meetings. The meetings don’t start until Edelgard arrives, and Edelgard’s always late, since she constantly needs to talk with teachers after school. And when she does arrive, she’s usually carrying a box full of bugs or a new book with gross pictures of bugs or, once, an abandoned wasp nest. So Dorothea tries to stay on her toes while she waits in the science classroom they’ve commandeered.

But even after all she’s seen, nothing could have prepared her for an exhausted, panting Edelgard bursting through the door with three bags of flour dragging behind her.

Hubert is the first one out of his chair. “Edelgard, if you needed help, you could have told us.”

She shakes her head. “It’s… It’s fine, Hubert,” she manages between breaths. “Can you, uh, put these on the desk for me?”

Dutifully, Hubert strides forward and helps Edelgard place the bags on the teacher’s desk in the front. They each hit the surface with a satisfying thud, and Dorothea can hear the grains of flour shifting to a stop inside them.

Hubert places the last bag on the desk, and finally, Edelgard straightens and wipes her brow, her breathing a little more under control. “Sorry, everyone. I think I underestimated how heavy those are.”

“No kidding,” says Caspar. “Who needs a set of weights when you spend all day hauling stuff at the grocery store?”

“Um, right,” says Edelgard. “Anyways, the reason I brought these here is for the very special meeting we’ve got ahead of us.”

Dorothea laughs. “What are we doing, baking a cake?”

“If only it was that pleasant.” Edelgard removes a clip from the top of the first bag, and only then does Dorothea notice that the bags have already been opened. “The home ec department gave these to us. After all, they don’t have much of a use for them anymore.”

Ferdinand scratches his head. “What do you mean, ‘anymore?’ They look pretty full to me.”

“You’ll see. Break into three groups, and I’ll bring you each a bag to look at. Get some clear containers so you can scoop out some of the flour, too,” says Edelgard.

Almost reflexively, Dorothea grimaces. She’s never liked the words “break into groups,” even back when half the class was clamoring to be her partner. They just don’t sit right in her chest, bubbling and sparking with nervous energy.

A gentle hand touches her arm. “Would you like to be in our group, Dorothea?”

She turns, and Petra is standing there, with Bernadetta not far behind. And as luck would have it, everyone else has neatly broken into their own squads as well, with Caspar and Linhardt paired together and Ferdinand going up to join Edelgard and Hubert.

But even though there’s not much of a choice left, Dorothea doesn’t mind at all. “I would love to.”

Petra smiles. “Wonderful! I am thinking we three will make a great team.”

“Right. Yeah. No problem.” The only problem being, of course, that Dorothea finds Petra too damn cute. She quickly smothers her grin and joins the other two at a table.

“Here you go,” says Edelgard, cautiously placing a bag of flour before them. “You’re free to observe as you like, just please be careful not to spill it. It’s not going to be fun to clean up.”

“Of course,” replies Petra. Once Edelgard has moved on, she turns to the rest of the group. “Well then? Shall we begin?”

Tentatively, Bernadetta removes the clip and opens the bag, dipping an empty beaker inside the flour and removing a scoop. To Dorothea, it looks just like plain wheat powder in a cup. She’s just about to remark as such when the grains begin to shift and a small red creature burrows out, crawling across the surface and twitching its antennae.

“Holy fuck, what is that?” mutters Dorothea, flinching and backing away. “Are there ants in there?”

Bernadetta brings the beaker closer to her face, examining the insect closer. “Um, it’s not an ant, though. See, it’s segmented differently. The abdomen is way longer.” She raises the cup, attempting to give Dorothea a look.

“Uh, right, right. The… abdomen.” Dorothea makes a face, still not completely thrilled. “What is that again?”

“Every arthropod is made up of different segments, which are also known as tagmata,” says Petra. “The most basic of these segments are the head, thorax, and abdomen. The abdomen is the last part.” She points to the end of the insect, which is long and flat and, indeed, different from an ant’s.

“So these abdomen things are their butts?” asks Dorothea. To be honest, she’s perfectly content not knowing, but it probably wouldn’t look good for an Entomology Club member to barely know head from tail on a bug.

Bernadetta lets out a hastily stifled giggle, but Petra continues, as calm and genuine as ever. “I suppose they would be the butts, but the abdomen also houses several digestive and respiratory structures. I would consider them to be more like our torsos in that sense.”

Somehow, even a girl like Dorothea can follow what Petra is saying. Although maybe it’s just because she finds herself hanging onto Petra’s every word. “Wow. Okay. I guess that makes sense.” The words feel clumsy and ungrateful, so Dorothea quickly adds, “Probably because you explained it really well.”

“It was nothing,” says Petra. “I am glad I could help.”

The two of them laugh awkwardly, apparently unable to find other words. They stare at each other, speechless, before Dorothea shifts her gaze to the ceiling while Petra flicks her eyes to the floor.

“Um, right,” says Bernadetta, looking back and forth between them with an unreadable expression. If she has doubt in her mind, she wisely doesn’t show it. “Anyways, I think I know what kind of insect this is. Maybe.” She shakes her head, shoving her phone into Petra’s hands. “Just, uh, look at this.”

Petra reads the screen. “Confused flour beetle?”

“What are we confused about?” asks Dorothea.

“No, er, that’s not what I meant.” Bernadetta points at the cup again, where a few more insects have now surfaced. “It’s called the confused flour beetle.”

It seems Dorothea has no shortage of questions. She blinks, puzzled. “But why?”

Bernadetta takes her phone back and begins scrolling down the page. As she does, she fidgets with the collar of her shirt. “This is just what I read here, but, uh, well, apparently there’s another kind of beetle called the red flour beetle and it looks really similar. So they get confused all the time, and, well… you get the confused flour beetle.”

Dorothea leans over, peering at the phone. It’s displaying a picture of two reddish-brown beetles, with long, flat backs and small, square heads. She looks at each of them in turn, trying to spot the difference, before ultimately giving up. “Are you sure they’re different beetles?”

“Y-Yeah. About that.” Bernadetta zooms in closer on the picture, focusing on the beetles’ heads. “The red flour beetle has antennae that are angled further back and end in a three-segmented club, and the confused flour beetle has antennae that end in a gradual club.” She zooms out. “Their thoraxes are slightly different, too.”

“And a thorax is one of those, uh…” Dorothea snaps her fingers, trying to remember. “The tag thingies? Is that what they’re called?”

Petra laughs. “Tagmata. It is close enough.”

“Ah. Right.” Dorothea can’t help but grin like a fool, even if she feels like one. At least Petra finds her funny.

Bernadetta clears her throat, just about to say something, when Edelgard’s voice calls across the room. “All right! Meeting ends in twenty minutes, let’s hear what you’ve found!”

As always, Caspar is first to respond. “We didn’t come up with anything,” he complains, “mostly because  _ someone _ insisted on looking up the nutritional content of insects.”

“It’s a valid question,” says Linhardt, completely unconcerned. “Say the home ec club had never noticed these insects. Then they would have ended up baked into the bread or pancakes or whatever they were making. And from what I’ve researched, this could be a great way to add a protein without sacrificing flavor.”

Dorothea doesn’t like the sound of that at all. And she definitely doesn’t buy Linhardt’s claims about “not sacrificing flavor.”

“That’s… certainly a possibility,” admits Edelgard. “I’m not sure it would be completely sanitary, though.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” says Linhardt. “In the process of baking, most of the bacteria and other contaminants would be killed, wouldn’t they?”

Caspar grimaces. “Dude, that’s disgusting.”

“That is a cultural bias. Many other countries eat insects and they do just fine.”

“They’re baked bugs, Linhardt. Baked bugs!”

Edelgard clears her throat, putting an end to the argument. “Anyways, if you’re done with your… culinary discussion, let’s move on.” She gestures at Hubert and Ferdinand. “How about you two?”

“Well,” says Ferdinand, “I was just saying that the home ec club clearly had some sort of oversight when storing their supplies. How else would they get an infestation like this?”

Hubert rolls his eyes. “Our school isn’t exactly known for its attention to detail, Ferdinand.”

“Right! And that is a shame!” With a flourish, he turns to the rest of the club. “I believe we, as the Entomology Club, should focus our efforts on bug-proofing this school!”

Surprisingly, Bernadetta is the first to respond. “But if we bug-proof the school… we’re not going to have any bugs to look at.”

Ferdinand sighs. “I suppose you’re right. They should definitely take better care of that pantry, though.”

“I don’t disagree,” says Edelgard. “Thank you, Ferdinand. Now for our last group?”

“Um, well, this is kind of a long explanation,” says Bernadetta. “I don’t know if you want to hear it…”

Petra shakes her head. “Your observations were very astute. I think everyone would benefit from them.”

“Yeah,” says Dorothea, nodding in agreement. “I never would have noticed them myself.”

“If you say so.” Slowly, Bernadetta explains the difference between confused and red flour beetles, even passing around her phone to show the other members the comparison chart.

“This is wonderful,” says Edelgard. “And I’m glad at least one group took it upon themselves to actually identify the insects.”

“Passive aggressive comments? From my club president?” Hubert gasps mockingly. “It’s more likely than you think.”

“Shush, Hubert. I’m not being passive aggressive,” says Edelgard, pretending to be irritated, although a small smile betrays her amusement. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad the other groups still managed to have interesting discussions. We do want people to have fun, you know.”

“Wow, Edelgard. That was weirdly sentimental. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” jabs Caspar.

“I occasionally feel like showing appreciation for the people in my life,” says Edelgard, simply. “Don’t get used to it. Anyways, let’s take these flour bags out back to the dump, since we don’t have much of a use for them anymore.”

Ferdinand knits his brow. “We’re just throwing them away? What about the flour beetles?”

“As far as I’ve researched, they’re quite hardy, and they’ll eat just about anything. And given the kinds of nonsense people throw in the dump, I think they’ll have plenty to choose from,” says Edelgard. “Let’s go!”

The groups move to pick up their flour bags. Or, rather, Edelgard’s group works together, while Caspar insists on carrying the whole bag himself. Dorothea glances back at her partners. Petra seems to have it under control, but she doesn’t feel right not helping out.

“Here, let me,” says Dorothea stepping in front of Petra. “I can hold it.”

“It is alright,” says Petra. “The bag is not that heavy.”

“Really, I can do it. I haven’t done much this meeting anyways,” says Dorothea.

“Do not be silly. You have done plenty.” Shyly, Petra adds, “You are always a very hard worker.”

“Um, everyone is leaving,” says Bernadetta, pointing at the door.

“Well, then, I guess we’ll just have to carry it together,” says Dorothea, moving in to take the other side of the bag. This time, Petra doesn’t protest. She just laughs and looks away.

They make their way down the hall, heading for the big double doors that lead out to the dumpster. The maneuvering is a bit tricky, since they have to make it down a flight of stairs in order to get there, but they make it down well enough.

Edelgard is already by the doors, propping them open with a few heavy rocks. “I think that’s just about everyone. Okay, let’s-”

A startled holler interrupts her. And just then, Caspar comes tumbling down the stairs, bag of flour still in his arms. He hits the floor, landing on top of the bag, which promptly explodes underneath him.

Hubert scowls. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

White powder fills the air, making Dorothea cough and wipe at her eyes. It’s also all over the floor, spreading even further as Caspar thrashes about, trying to stand up without slipping on the piles of flour.

Exasperated, Hubert sets down his bag and grabs Caspar by the shoulder, pulling him out of the rapidly growing mess. “Enough of this. Why didn’t you get Linhardt to help you?”

“I don’t know,” complains Caspar. “It wasn’t even that heavy.”

Standing off to the side, Linhardt shrugs. “Don’t look at me.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s responsible,” interrupts Edelgard. “We just need to get this cleaned up. Can someone get a trash can?”

Ferdinand tries the nearest classroom door. “They’re all locked inside.”

“And also,” says Caspar, in between coughs, “the custodians are gonna be super suspicious when a bunch of white powder shows up in the school trash cans.”

Edelgard sighs. “Okay, let’s at least get some brooms and dust pans first, and then we can decide where to put all this.”

“I’ll get them,” says Ferdinand. He dashes off in the direction of the club classroom, carefully sidestepping the pile of flour as he makes his way back up the stairs. Soon enough, he returns, several brooms and pans in his arms.

“Alright, everybody,” says Edelgard, pointing towards the door. “Let’s get the flour outside to the dump. Try not to leave anything behind.”

And so the club forms a scraggly relay, with Ferdinand, Hubert, and Edelgard sweeping the flour into pans, and everyone else running it outside. It all seems to be going well, and it might even be a little fun. Dorothea certainly has a good time when Petra teases her about the flour that’s ended up in her hair. That is, until Dorothea’s fourth run, when the wind starts to pick up. Halfway to the dump, all the flour is blown out of her pan, and it whirls away, scattering over the sidewalk.

“Shit.” Dorothea halfheartedly attempts to chase after it, but gives up as the flour quickly disappears in the air. She grits her teeth, hoping that nobody’s noticed, but as she looks over her shoulder, she catches Linhardt’s eye. He shrugs, holding a similarly empty dustpan.

“Don’t tell Edelgard, I guess.” Then he turns and runs back inside the building.

Dorothea imagines Edelgard’s disappointed face, not to mention the long sigh and subsequent lecture. Yeah, no thanks. There’s no way she’s saying anything about this, not if she can help it. Besides, a little bit of flour never hurt anyone, right?

-

It’s not as if Dorothea is particularly concerned with first impressions, if she could even call this one. She’s already met Ferdinand, of course, but she’s never spent much time with him outside of the club. Although, on second thought, this shopping trip is directly related to the club, anyways.

Either way, despite not caring what Ferdinand thinks of her, Dorothea doesn’t exactly want to be late to their meeting, either. Edelgard set the time and location for them already, but the hardware store is a twenty-minute walk from the nearest bus stop, and by the time Dorothea gets there, Ferdinand is already waiting.

She picks up her pace a little, heading for where Ferdinand is standing. Instead of being on his phone to pass the time, he’s reading out of a miniscule book, his face concerningly close to the pages. As she draws nearer, he looks up, smiling.

“Sorry for the wait,” says Dorothea.

“No need to apologize,” says Ferdinand. “It was a good opportunity to brush up on my vocabulary.”

“Vocabulary?” Dorothea sneaks a glance at the tiny book. “What were you reading?”

Ferdinand turns the cover towards her. “It’s a small pocket dictionary I found at the local thrift store, for the language of Brigid.”

“Huh, that’s pretty far from here. Are you planning to visit Brigid soon or something?” Though she’s never had any experience with it herself, Dorothea’s heard of people learning languages for vacations and the like. Of course, she wouldn’t really know, seeing as she’s never had the money for a plane ticket.

But instead, Ferdinand shakes his head. “No, I merely found it interesting. Although when Petra saw me reading it, she laughed and said a great deal of the phrases were outdated.” He shrugs. “Not that it matters much. I’m fairly old-fashioned no matter which language I‘m using.”

“Um, what about Petra?” To be honest, Dorothea has already started tuning out most of the conversation, but the mention of Petra’s name catches her attention.

“Her family is from Brigid,” says Ferdinand, “so of course her grasp of the language far exceeds mine.”

Somehow, that idea never struck Dorothea. “I didn’t know she was from Brigid.”

“Well, not technically,” says Ferdinand. “Her parents immigrated to Fodlan, and she was born here.”

“Oh, I see,” says Dorothea, embarrassed that she doesn’t know such a simple fact and that she’s discussing it with Ferdinand, of all people.

In any case, he doesn’t seem to notice. “But enough about that. You’re picking out gear today, right?”

Dorothea nods. “I don’t really know what I’m doing, though.”

“That’s all right. The thing about nets is that it’s impossible to know which one is right for you ahead of time. You’ll just have to try them out, and if it fits, it fits.”

Dorothea isn’t sure how much she buys that, but by now she’s already gotten the idea. She just has to roll with it. “If you say so.”

The two of them enter the hardware store, the big double doors sliding open automatically as they approach. The strong, earthy scent of fertilizer immediately fills the air, making Dorothea screw up her face. It’s not unpleasant, exactly, just unfamiliar.

“The nets are over here,” says Ferdinand, leading Dorothea to the back corner of the store. Then, they make their way into a narrow aisle, tucked out of the way from everything else.

The first half of the shelving is taken up with tackle boxes and fishing poles, but as they continue, they reach a section lined with a massive variety of nets. Dorothea never would have imagined they’d come in all these different shapes and sizes, and in some cases, colors, but apparently there’s some market for all of these.

“These are technically for fishing,” says Ferdinand, “but they’re usually the best option when it comes to durability and effectiveness. The only thing I’d say to watch out for is netting that’s too wide, since fish are significantly larger than insects, of course.” He gestures at the shelves. “Go ahead and try them out!”

Dorothea hesitates. “Do I just… pick them up?”

“Well, you might also want to give them a few swings,” says Ferdinand. “Get a feel for the weighting and all that. You might also want to think about how you prefer to catch bugs. Are you a one-hander or a two-hander? That’ll help you narrow down the length of the handle you want.”

“I... guess I’m a one-hander.” Truthfully, Dorothea has no idea, since she hasn’t actually spent that much time catching bugs, but it seems like using one hand is simpler and less silly-looking.

“Then you’ll want to go for nets with a shorter handle, probably no longer than two feet. Oh, and a wide net is always helpful,” says Ferdinand. “I’m more of a two-handed person myself. I’ve always liked wearing the longer nets on my back, sort of like a lance, you know?”

Frankly, Dorothea started getting lost at that last part, but it makes enough sense for her to pick up the first net that fits the description. It’s a small black net, about two feet long, half net and half handle.

“Go on,” says Ferdinand, encouragingly. “Try it out!”

The more Dorothea thinks about it, the more foolish it seems, but she pushes the feelings aside and does a few half-hearted swipes at the air. Her turns go wide, the handle of the net twirling awkwardly in her hand.

“Hm. I think the balance isn’t right in this one,” says Ferdinand. “Maybe pick one with a net that’s longer than the handle?”

Dorothea tries again, this time with a blue one, slightly larger, with a round net nearly the size of a hubcap. After the first couple of swings, the net slips out of her hands, hitting the tiled floor with a clatter.

“Ah, that might be too top heavy,” says Ferdinand. “I’ve always found those to be a bit awkward, though Edelgard and Caspar seem to like them.” He shrugs. “To each their own.”

“I can see Caspar using this, but Edelgard?” Dorothea picks up the net, setting it back on the shelf. “Doesn’t it feel, I don’t know, clumsy?”

Ferdinand is silent for a moment. “Well, don’t tell her I said this, but I think Edelgard’s eyesight is worse then she’s letting on. She usually hits slightly off-center, so a wide net helps her still catch what she’s aiming for.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I don’t think she’s ever actually told anyone,” says Ferdinand, “but it’s pretty clear if you take the time to notice. For example, she always sits in the front of the class so she can see the board better.”

“I thought she just did that because she’s a teacher’s pet,” says Dorothea.

“Not really,” says Ferdinand. “She actually hates school.”

“Seriously?” Dorothea can hardly believe her ears. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not at all. When I first started high school, she and Hubert were the only people I ate lunch with. Edelgard was always complaining about teachers or how the education system is flawed or something like that. It didn’t make much sense to me at the time.”

“Weird,” says Dorothea, moving to try another net. “So have you three known each other for a long time?”

Ferdinand shakes his head. “Not really. Our parents used to work together, but we didn’t actually talk much until high school. I was homeschooled until then, too.”

That last fact is probably the only one that doesn’t surprise Dorothea. She imagines a young Ferdinand, surrounded by two loving parents who are willing to spending their time teaching him. Or at the very least, parents who are actually around. She quickly smothers the rising envy in her chest. “And how did you like homeschooling?”

“It wasn’t my favorite, actually. I much prefer public school, being around others my age, that kind of thing.” His smile falters just a little bit. “Although I suppose I don’t fit in much anyways.”

“Seriously? But you’re everywhere in this school. Future business leaders, debate team, all those honor societies. It’s like they can’t get enough of you.”

“More like they barely tolerate me.” Ferdinand shrugs nonchalantly, a hint of sadness creeping into his expression. “I may have trouble reading social cues, but I’m not a fool. I can tell they’re just keeping me around for the sake of it.”

Without thinking, Dorothea places a hand on Ferdinand’s shoulder, surprising even herself. “That’s… that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

Ferdinand looks over and shakes his head. “It’s alright. I have people who truly care about me, and that’s enough. I thank my lucky stars every day that I was able to find the Entomology Club.”

The thought makes Dorothea smile. She knows what he means, and she feels exactly the same. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“Really?” asks Ferdinand. “I could have sworn you were just being dragged along with our antics.”

She shrugs. “I think I’m starting to get used to it. Maybe even like it.”

He breaks into a laugh. “I’m glad to hear that, and I’m sure the rest of the members would be glad, too. I might be too bold in speaking for them, but we’re very happy that you joined.”

“Come on, I’m not that big of a deal,” says Dorothea, trying not to let her grin show. “Am I?”

“Of course you are. I don’t think I’ve seen this level of engagement in months.” Ferdinand winks. “Although I think one member in particular is especially happy to have you here.”

“Excuse me?” Dorothea smacks Ferdinand’s shoulder, only getting more laughter out of him. “You can’t just drop something like that! Spill! Who is it?”

“I think you already know.”

“I already…” Dorothea goes silent. It’s not who she’s thinking of, is it? There’s no way. There’s totally, absolutely no way. And frankly, on the off chance she’s wrong, she’s too afraid to take that chance. So she deflects. “Please don’t let it be Hubert.”

That gets another laugh out of Ferdinand. “Even if Hubert was interested in women, I don’t think you’d be his type. No offense meant, of course.”

“None taken.” Dorothea narrows her eyes. “Really, Ferdinand, I didn’t take you to be one for gossip.”

He motions his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t consider it gossip if it’s common knowledge. And it looks pretty obvious, even to me.”

Dorothea frowns. “You’ve got to be kidding me. What do you mean by that?”

“As I said, I’ve never been able to read people and their relationships easily. But this one is… how should I put it? An open book.” To illustrate, Ferdinand reaches into his pocket and takes out his Brigid dictionary, unfolding it with both hands.

The frown deepens. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you chose to use that specific metaphor and this specific book to prove your point. Because of course that doesn’t mean anything.”

Ferdinand shrugs. “I think the fact that you’re reading so much into it is an even stronger indicator of my theory.”

“Too many big words. You’re hurting my head.” Dorothea steps forward and pokes Ferdinand with her net. “Out with it. And stop playing these stupid little games.”

Instead of answering, Ferdinand pulls two slips of paper out of his back pocket. “Did you know I work at a movie theater?”

“Be serious. What the hell does that have to do with this?” asks Dorothea.

He hands the papers over, and only then does Dorothea realize that they’re movie tickets. “If you’re still not certain, I think these will make the answer clear.”

“Clear as mud, Ferdinand.” She waves the tickets in the air. “What are you trying to tell me?”

“Use them to ask her,” replies Ferdinand. “ Because I have no doubt she’ll say yes.”

-

Dorothea lies awake, staring at the ceiling in the dim blue light. She can hear the hum of the fan, the ticking of the clock, the hushed chirp of some kind of bug outside the window. Cricket? Cicada? She feels a brief flash of shame for not knowing, but in all fairness, it’s not exactly the highest of her priorities right now.

What the fuck is she supposed to do?

She rolls over, staring at her bedside table, where the two movie tickets sit. They’re harmless, of course. Two glossy slips of paper with ink on the surface. But in the dark, with the meaning they hold, they seem like they’re taunting her.

Grumbling in frustration, Dorothea turns her back to the tickets, shoving a pillow over her head for good measure. She closes her eyes, hoping to get some rest, but instead, she subconsciously begins laying out the situation before her.

Ferdinand, who describes himself as not being able to read social situations, finds it “obvious” that someone in the Entomology Club has feelings for Dorothea. And on the other hand, Dorothea herself, a former social butterfly who spent a significant amount of time studying body language so she could mimic it on stage, has no goddamn clue.

She could look at the situation objectively, of course. Analyze every meeting, every hallway interaction, every lunchtime conversation until she finds enough evidence. But she knows it will be useless, because even if her head says one thing, her heart keeps coming back to the same foolish answer.

Petra Macneary. Sweet, determined Petra Macneary. If she had a choice, out of everyone in the Entomology Club, Dorothea wouldn’t hesitate to pick her. But there can’t be any way someone as perfect as Petra would want to spend time with a broken mess like Dorothea.

There’s nothing that seems easy about Petra’s life. Being orphaned at a young age, having to take care of her elderly grandfather, and somehow still finding time to excel at academics and athletics and  _ bug-catching _ , of all things. She’s a paragon of hard work, overcoming the odds and coming out on top. And on the other hand, Dorothea has all but been defined by a pathetic feeling of loneliness, starting with her dad leaving, followed by her mom never being around, and finally culminating in the Drama Club turning their backs on her. She’s nothing like Petra. So who in their right mind could see them together?

And besides, Dorothea isn’t ready to date a girl.

If it’s companionship she wants, men are the easiest to find. They want her for her looks, for her easy charm, for the lack of commitment their relationship offers. And it’s not comfortable, per se, but it’s familiar. Dorothea would rather go through the motions than try to find something real, something that requires her to actually open up.

She’s not completely oblivious, of course. She’s known for a while that she’s not just attracted to men. It manifests in furtive glances and long stares, catching herself looking when she’s not supposed to. His arms, her hair, their smile. She knows she’s not as straight as she seems.

But Dorothea has never pursued anything other than a shallow, self-obsessed boyfriend. Anyone else would demand more genuine investment in a relationship, the kind Dorothea’s not and never will be ready for. She desperately craves a fulfilling partnership, the kind will actually return as much love as she gives, but the price of emotional vulnerability is too great for her to risk.

She looks at the clock. The numbers don’t mean much to her, but she knows it’s much too late for her to be tormenting herself like this. She’s either got to force herself to sleep or do something about this whole mess. And Dorothea’s not sleeping anytime soon.

With a shaky hand, she reaches for her phone and pops it off its charging cord. The screen comes to life, displaying the same ungodly time, but thankfully, no messages.

She opens her phone, the harsh light causing her eyes to water, and finds the app she needs. First, she snaps a picture of the tickets, even turning on the lamp for better lighting. Then, before she can back out of her decision, she types her message, reads it once over for mistakes, attaches the pictures, and sends it off.

A little confirmation appears on Dorothea’s screen, and she breathes a sigh of relief. The deed is done. Displayed on a local trade forum is her brand new post:

_ Two movie tickets for sale. Asking $20, willing to negotiate. Local pick-up only. Not willing to ship. _

Ferdinand would probably call her a coward. Hell, Dorothea would call herself a coward. But finally, she shuts off her phone, basking in the temporary peace of mind she’s haphazardly created. She can deal with potential buyers tomorrow. For now, all she needs is to drift off, get some rest, and forget any of this ever happened.


End file.
